Village of Sin
by happychocobo
Summary: You promised me you'd tell our story. But you never did. Well, I’m alone now. . . waiting for you. In our “special place.”


Village of Sin

By happychocobo

A/N: An odd story. I hope you read. I hope you enjoy. And I damn well hope you keep an open mind. I'm writing this with my sister, so the writing style may change from time to time.

KWEH!!!

This was some sick joke. Who would do such a horrid thing? He crumpled the letter in his hands and threw it at the wall. It bounced off and land with a soft "thump" on the floor. She was dead. How long had it been? He had lost track of time. Time was a mystery to him. He told her he would tell their story. But. . . it was the first time in ages that he wouldn't be able to keep his promise. Nonetheless, it was his most important promise he was not able to manage.

He brushed the stubble on his chin and sweat out of his eyes. He looked back at the small ball of paper before him at his feet. Just staring at it made him boil with anger. If he ever got his hands on the person who had written it, he would kill them in one flick of his wrist.

Still. . .

Picking it up off his dirty floor, he unfolded it and stared at crumpled lines now creased in the letter.

_You promised me you'd tell our story. But you never did. Well, I'm alone now. . . waiting for you. In our "special place."_

It was in her handwriting. But she was gone. And the deceased can't write letters. Yet, what if she was still alive? No. He had seen her lowered into the ground. Perhaps he was losing his mind. Maybe Satine didn't really exist. There was no diamond. There was no beauty. She was all a figment of his imagination. Possibly he was passed out in an alley somewhere with a bottle of Absinth in his hand.

Yet, something inside of him was screaming to go. He wanted to see her so badly. He needed to see her. He had to convince himself she was dead. So, he would go to her grave. That would prove she was finally resting. Yes, that's what should be done. It was the only way he would be able to sleep at night.

Christian folded the letter a tad bit neater than he had before, and slipped it into his pocket. His sweaty hand reached out to grab the nob of the door. With one last glance, he cast his eyes toward the window in his flat. Mist was setting in around Montmartre. He should leave now before he'd get lost. The dead windmill slowly turned behind the deep fog.

Time to go.

Christian was still pondering about the letter. The handwriting still embedded in his mind. It looked as though whoever wrote it had sat down and with intense attentiveness, carefully and smoothly glided the pen across the page. It was Spectacular Spectacular. Ah, that word gave so many wonderful yet grievous memories.

Christian turned the nob on his door. He felt the cool breeze as he opened the door. Christian noticed that the hall felt colder than usual. The smell of death was in the air, it was very uncomfortable. He had a dooming feeling inside him. . . The stairs made a creaking noise, at each step.

As his legs move forward, Christian noticed something unusual on the entrance door to the apartment. He saw grooves in the wood. Five lines that stretched apart, like someone was trying to escape. Beads of sweat drooped downside his face. A hot flush prickled along his neck. And where his body an oasis, his mouth was a desert. Shavings of wood had been surrounded the grooves on the door. With confusion, Christian knew what these marks were.

Claw marks.

Where did these come from? Christian's chest sounded like bombs were going off. He moved closer and closer to the door. He kept hearing things. Maybe he was just paranoid. Christian tried to make himself feel better by thinking that maybe those weren't claw marks, maybe they had always been there, maybe he just noticed it.

As Christian opened the door, he saw thick fog in the air. There was nothing on the street. At least it was how it seemed through the fog. Christian walked through the doorway, now it was colder than it was in the hallway. Christian raised his head to look at the Moulin Rouge, but he could hardly see it. As the town of Montmarte was usually busy, it now seemed like a ghost town. Maybe it was the chilly weather.

Moved forward, he was able to see crimson streaks on the road. The streaks were wet like and dark. Blood. That's what it was. Now he thought someone was hurt. He looked around, and shouted: "Is somebody hurt?". No answer. Christian shouted again, and there was still no answer

"What Happened?" It looked gooey and fresh. But Christian moved on forward, feeling scared. The fog wasn't making the atmosphere any better. He started walking again. He could hear the echo on his own footsteps throughout the street. Just only a few more steps an then he'd be there.

Christian was able to see the cemetery, he saw big black pointy curvy gates. it looked lonely. The tall gates had gargoyles on the sides. As he pushed the gates open it made a loud creaking noise. As he moved toward Satine's grave the fog thickened.

He couldn't quite remember where her body was buried. After all, he never once came here. It was too hard to say goodbye, that's why he promised never to come to her grave. Too many memories. He moved forward, searching for her headstone.

Odd, the graveyard seemed more alive than the town. He carefully smoothed out the dirt on a few of the graves. But he couldn't find it anywhere. Putting his hand in his pocket to make sure the note was still there, or to convince himself that it was real, Christian squinted through the fog. Swiping leaves away from the small brick trail that led from the gates, he stared at the ground.

_Could Satine really be alive?_

Something moved behind him.

Spinning around as quick as he could, he saw a fresh gravestone. It was hard to see through the fog, but something moved behind it. Moving forward, he quietly approached the tidy headstone. His heart was beating so loud he was sure even the people in the ground could hear it. His feet scuffed the dry, dead grass. Taking in a large breathe, he peered over the grave.

It was a girl. Her stormy hair fell in her eyes. And her shabby clothes told him that she was not of great wealth. She was crouched reading the headstone. Her long and pale face was almost as hazy as the mist that surrounded them. Her eyes held something hollow. Dim hope radiated from her. She didn't look up at him. Not for one second.

"Excuse me?" Christian muttered.

"Ah!" She stood up quickly and jumped away from the stone.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you." he rushed out. "You're the first person I've seen all day." She stared at him for a few moments, the fear in her eyes were replaced with anger. . .then nothing.

"I'm apologize." her voice was surprisingly deep for a woman of her age. "I was just a little startled."

"I'm looking for someone. But I can't find their grave. Do you know where Satine's grave is?" Christian asked, hoping that this woman was put in his path for a reason.

"No." she replied. "Who is she?" That was a mean joke.

"What do you mean 'who is she?'" he ran his hand over his shaggy beared. "She was the famous Sparkling Diamond. She lit up all of Paris!" The woman held up her hand to silence him.

"I'm sorry, I don't know her. I've never even heard of her." Christian looked down, ashamed by his outburst.

"I can't find her."

"Me neither, I'm looking for my mama . . I mean my mother." she stuttered. "I've been looking all over town, and she's nowhere." She paused. "Excuse me, it's not your problem."

"No, no it's okay." A sudden chill made him shudder. "I hope you find her." The girl looked down at the gravestone again. After a few seconds, she looked back up at him. The expression on her face looked as though she were staring at Christian for the first time.

"You probably shouldn't stay here." She stepped out from behind the grave and walked up to him. "There is something wrong with this town."

Christian thought about laughing for a moment, then stopped and gazed at her. She looked even younger than she had before. She was maybe a woman of eighteen or nineteen, but her eyes held something much more deep. The brown looked almost black, and her pale, thin lips were now pressed together in anxiety.

"What do you mean?" She shook her head as though trying to gather her thoughts. She put her fingers up and rubbed her temples.

"It's hard to explain. I'm getting a dangerous feeling. And it's not just the fog either, it's-"He had heard enough.

"Sure, okay. I believe you. But I need to find her. I need to find Satine." The woman turned her back and walked toward the grave.

"I hope that you do."

The sound of church bells ringing interrupted him. He looked toward the girl who now was plopped on the ground gazing at the stone. She seemed to be back in her trance. The church bells became louder and Christian turned to walk away.

It was strange, the church bells faintly sounded like "Come What May." But that was ridiculous. Nonetheless, he wasn't aware that his feet were guiding him toward the town's old church.

Maybe he would find what he was looking for there.

_There is something wrong with this town._

There was something dark about the town as well.

To be continued. . .

A/N: I'm not going to waste my time with this story if you don't like it. So please tell me what you think! If not, then I'll have to make the second chapter better.


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